


scream, burn, touch, learn

by izzygone



Series: nighttime creatures [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beach Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Drunk Sex, M/M, Size Kink, Spanking, Topping from the Bottom, kavinsky is a size queen (still)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 14:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7761427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzygone/pseuds/izzygone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7698094">hands on the wheel? fuck that</a></p><p>Basically, Ronan and Kavinsky fuck on the beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	scream, burn, touch, learn

**Author's Note:**

> At this point my weekends consist just of writing rovinsky smut while playing pokemon go at the beach, but I've come to terms with that. I consider it multi-tasking.
> 
> Not beta'd. Title from Shadow Preachers by Zella Day.

Ronan had driven the car right into the fucking ocean. It sank in the sand, and he didn’t stop until the wheels started spinning in place instead of moving forward. At that point, both he and Kavinsky each grabbed a bottle of the clear Bulgarian liquor from the back seat, opened their windows and crawled out, letting the ocean take the car.

Back ashore now, Kavinsky laughs and strips down to his boxers. The night is so dark and the sky so clear, all he can see is stars. It’s a night meant for dreaming. He lies in the shallows, letting the waves climb up his body, lapping up to his ears. He’s pleased to see Ronan settling beside him, down to his black Armani boxers, the water washing away all the spots of dried come from the last time Kavinsky had sucked his cock on the way here.

Ronan pops the cork out of his bottle of rakia using his teeth and takes a long swig. It tastes like jet fuel and fruit-gone-bad had a love child they’d immediately set on fire, but he can’t deny that he likes it. He thinks maybe the drugs they took to get here are beginning to wear off, and he’s got no idea what time it is. The clocks in all of the Evo’s always read “B4LLS” in blocky, digital letters. It was endlessly hilarious and completely un-useful. He’s got his cell phone on him, but neglected to save it from the ravages of the ocean water. It was getting swept out on the tide with the rest of his clothes he’d left too close to the water anyway.

Not that he really fucking cares. He could lie on this beach and fuck Kavinsky until they both starved and that would be just fucking fine.

Lying half-deep in waves, Kavinsky closes his eyes. Like he can hear Ronan’s thoughts he says, “I’m gonna dream us some fucking food.”

Ronan takes another few gulps of the fire-liquor and waits. Kavinsky never sleeps longer than 10 minutes, he doesn’t need it. He’s a fucking thief and uses blow to get himself through the day. 

He’s back a second later, his hands around two bags of sweet chili Doritos, a bag of pills, and a flip-cap bottle of lube. He grins and sits up, and Ronan takes a bag of chips from him.

They eat together in silence for a while. The tide is going out and they watch it retreat, tiny crabs skittering about and hiding in shallow pools left behind in its wake. Little by little, they watch their clothing disappear and the gleaming white body of the Evo reappear. Ronan wouldn’t be surprised if Kavinsky had dreamed it to be water repellent, but he’s not planning to retrieve it either way.

Maybe they’ll dream a cell phone and call someone to pick them up. Maybe they’ll eventually walk all the way home to Henrietta. Maybe they’ll stay here forever. It’s not like they can’t get by on dreams.

The thought is too romantic to entertain, particularly when Kavinsky is involved so Ronan just looks to the horizon while he drinks and eats and finally accepts a pill K is handing him. 

Then he grabs the lube and shoves Kavinsky down onto the soft, wet sand. K flings away his food and liquor like it’s burned him and spreads his legs automatically. He hates that he’s such a slut for this, so desperate for Lynch’s attention that he’s on the verge of begging for it, but there’s not much he can do about it. He’d already revealed too much by the second blowjob he gave in the car.

But whatever. He’s about to get fucked and that’s all the matters.

Lynch kneels between Kavinsky’s parted thighs, strips his boxers off with military-like efficiency pushes K’s legs up, so K’s almost bent in half, giving him room to drag those boxers off, too, and throw them into the sand. He makes Kavinsky hold his legs up and parted as he coats his fingers with the dream-lube and rubs over K’s pretty little hole.

The gasp Kavinsky makes is worth the sin he’s committing. He’s going to make K see God tonight.

He forces a finger in, watching Kavinsky’s eyes close automatically against the burn and intrusion. “Look at me while I fingerfuck the life out of you, slut.” K shudders. He’ll never again be able to hear the word “slut” without coming in his pants.

Kavinsky looks at Ronan and tries to relax, tries to open his body like he never would for anyone else. He feels sand _everywhere_ , in his hair, coating his arms, all along the bottoms of his feet. Tiny ocean waves continue to lap against his body, sometimes they reach his ears and for just a moment he’s in an isolation tank, just him, the sand on his skin and Ronan’s finger inside him. 

Ronan makes no effort to avoid his prostate. He’s relentless, spilling lube against K’s perineum and forcing a second finger inside. Lynch’s hands have always been glorious, and Kavinsky honestly can’t believe he gets to feel them like this. Can’t believe he’ll get to feel Ronan’s _dick_ inside him. Tonight. Not soon enough. “Come on, Lynch, I’m not going to fucking break.”

Above him, Ronan grins madly, “Challenge. Fucking. Accepted.” He shoves a third finger in, vicious, and K doesn’t try to hide a moan. This is what he’s been fucking thinking about. This is what he’s been trying to get out of Ronan _for weeks._ He wants to be taken apart, piece by piece, not with a chisel and brush but with a fucking jackhammer.

Three fingers is absolutely not enough prep considering the size of Ronan’s cock, but in no way does that pertain to the matter at hand.

Ronan pulls his fingers out fast and without warning, leaving a vacuum behind in Kavinsky’s gaping hole. He’s desperate to have it filled. Ronan spills more lube out onto his cock. No such thing as too much lube, no matter the situation, but also this dream-lube of K’s is a small miracle. It’s the only thing the sand doesn’t seem to stick to. Ronan has to admit K’s a critical thinker.

The water laps at his toes as he positions himself so he’s leaning over K, his heavy, thick cock hanging between them like a dirty promise. It feels awfully personal, doing this face to face, too _intimate_ , which Ronan recognizes as bizarre thought to have since he literally had his dick in K’s mouth earlier, but whatever. He leans back and grabs Kavinsky by his ankles and flips him in a single motion. K cries out but not in a bad way. His whole backside is coated with wet sand and there’s a pretty flush spreading across his pale, scarred skin.

Ronan takes his dick in one hand and uses the other to press a bruise into Kavinsky’s hip. When he lines up, K growls, clearly impatient, and Ronan almost slaps him. Instead, he touches the tip against K’s desperate hole and _presses_.

At first, he thinks even just the tip isn’t going to fit because Kavinsky is so, _so_ tight. Then K gives an inpatient roll of his hips and forces himself further onto Ronan’s cock, “Are you going to use that thing, Lynch, or should we switch positions?” Now it’s Ronan’s turn to growl and he punches into K with a snap of his hips.

Kavinsky’s howl can probably be heard all the way back in Henrietta, but Ronan doesn’t acknowledge it. He’s having a meltdown. He’s all the way inside K now, and he’s never felt anything like it. It feels like going off a cliff in a really expensive car. It feels like bringing something living back from dreaming. It feels like eating a Molotov cocktail, glass, liquor, flame and all.

He doesn’t give K time to adjust because he knows that’s not what either of them want. The dream-lube makes everything slick and so much easier than it has any right to be. Nothing as big as Ronan’s cock should fit inside a person as thin and emaciated as Joseph Kavinsky, but here they are. Ronan’s glad they’re not facing each other and even more glad because from this angle he can watch his cock working in and out, watch Kavinsky suck him in like his hole is a desperate thing with no limits.

Ronan’s too big to avoid K’s prostate even if he tried, which he’s clearly not planning to do. Kavinsky is more worried, honestly, that Lynch might try to reach around, in which case K would die from coming too hard and too soon. He itches to do a line of coke to take the edge off. He’s a little busy at the moment, though – namely, blinking away tears appearing unbidden in the corner of his eyes. It’s so gloriously rough and the right side of painful, he can feel sparks flicking up his wrist like holding himself up against Ronan’s hard thrusts is giving him nerve damage.

Totally worth it, to be honest.

Ronan holds him firm at the hips, and Kavinsky’s pulse flares at the idea of finding the bruises there in the morning. His hole is stretched so wide, too, he’s guaranteed to be red and raw and torn apart, but he’ll welcome Ronan’s dick in again all the same. Each stroke of that monster dick over his prostate makes heart skip and his eyes might be bleeding with the effort to keep them open. He feels high, though he hasn’t taken anything since mid-afternoon, and he can’t think of anything except _god_ and _fuck_ and _I hope he likes this too_.

Ronan’s pretty sure he’s possessed, and the devil feels so, _so_ good. He can’t seem to stop snapping his hips, not so much rolling into Kavinsky’s willing hole so much as _punching_ into him. It’s a borderline painful, but the pill he took before they started this takes the edge off and Ronan wouldn’t stop anyway. He’d always imagined he’d have to bottom when he finally lost his virginity, too much cock on him for anyone not to turn and run from. Anyone but Kavinsky, apparently.

Ronan can’t help but wonder if K ever let’s his precious, well-endowed pet Proko fuck him like this. Probably not. Kavinsky might be a size queen, but he wasn’t anybody’s bitch. Except now he’s Ronan’s.

The idea fills him with a strange and possessive sort of glee. He clenches his fists and feels every bone in Kavinsky’s hips, earning him a gasp. He wants to _mark_ _his territory_ and he thinks maybe K wouldn’t mind at all. He lifts one hand then brings it back down on Kavinsky’s bare skin with a sharp crack. K cries out, and Ronan does it again. And again. And again. K lets out another litany of curses in Bulgarian and Ronan keeps at it. He times his thrusts so he’s pulling nearly out as his hand raises, and filling K to the brim as the slap comes down. 

He feels each hit reverberate through K’s whole body and back into him through his cock. He’s probably cursing aloud at this point, too, because _fuck_ , this is getting so real and everything is so hot and Ronan can feel every tiny spec of sand between his fingers and Kavinsky’s skin.

Ronan feels a slight tingle run up his spine as a surprisingly large wave rolls over his feet, up his calves and nearly to his thighs. Kavinsky hisses like the water has burned him. Another wave hits, again surprisingly strong compared to the tiny waves that had been previously licking his toes. Maybe the wind picked up off shore or a speed boat or something is passing. Either way, the waves get stronger and Ronan keeps fucking Kavinsky, even as the water surges over his thighs and wipes the sand from his skin.

The waves get higher and eventually, Kavinsky is choking on the water as it rolls over him because Ronan bucks into him in pace with the waves and he can’t not grunt with each hard press of his hips. The water is salty and it reminds him of the taste of Ronan’s come in the car, and he really wants to drown in it. He feels pressure on his back, and Ronan is pressing between his shoulder blades, forcing his face into the dirty ocean water so he can’t breathe for several seconds at a time. Kavinsky chokes again and thinks _yeah, let’s drown together._

Ronan drives his hips harder at the sound of Kavinsky’s pathetic gasps. He wants to _hurt_ someone, and K wants to be hurt so badly, it’s all too easy to lose control. He could drown Kavinsky right here, and who would even know? Who would even fucking care?

He should know by now that Kavinsky doesn’t let anyone stay on top for long, but he’s still surprised when K ducks under a particularly large wave and uses the water and his leverage against the beach to slide out from underneath him. Kavinsky’s fist comes up to Ronan’s face so fast, in his sex-dazed state, he’d never have been able to dodge it, though he really doesn’t want to. It feels good to bleed. He lets K knock him over and crawl on top of him as a fresh wave hits his face and washes away the blood.

Ronan can only just see through the salt-sting in his eyes, but he knows Kavinsky is grinning madly as he lowers himself back onto Ronan’s monster dick. He winces as he does it and then sighs, a little relieved to be back in his place. He holds Ronan down with two hands – one against his chest to keep him flat and the other around his throat so he can leave bruises of his own.

He’s impressed with his own ingenuity because the lube is still slick and hasn’t washed away even a tiny bit with the waves that keep rolling over them, up his back and through his wet hair and from there straight onto Ronan’s bare chest. He starts to fuck himself on Ronan’s cock – motherfucker didn’t think he’d get to have all the fun, did he? Rides it like he’s in a race and watches Ronan’s eyes, still open even in the salty water. Kavinsky wants to feel like he’s in charge, but he knows he isn’t because Ronan plants his feet on the beach and starts fucking _up_ into him, and yeah, that’s pretty much all he’s going to need. He can’t believe he’s got Ronan’s cock inside him. He can’t believe he’s got a cock _that big_ inside him. The new angle lights a fire in him every time Ronan bucks up at the same time that Kavinsky fucks down and it’s _better_ than drugs. It’s better than racing, it’s better than cars. It’s fucking _perfect_. Suddenly, Kavinsky can’t _not_ come. He was going to hold out. He was going to fuck Ronan into oblivion and make him blow him so Ronan could taste come tonight, too. But it’s too late for that. Ronan’s fingernails are digging into Kavinsky’s thighs and he’s choking on the water and gasping for air, half dead like K already is and _fuck_. 

Kavinsky comes apart just like that. The water washes away his come before he’s even finished. Ronan can feel K’s orgasm like he’s never felt anything before. It rolls through K and makes his shudder and his insides pulse and _fuck_. Ronan flips them again. He can’t believe it, but he’s going to look into Kavinsky’s eyes when he comes. He loops his arms around K’s thighs and uses that leverage to fuck into him with brutal abandon. Kavinsky is fucked out and loose, but his hole still _tries_. It flutters around Ronan’s cock, trying to keep it all in just for a minute longer. The waves have slowed and a drop of blood slides Ronan’s split lip down his chin and onto Kavinsky’s naked chest. K, still half out of his mind from the fuck of his life absentmindedly reaches one hand down. He runs a finger through the blood and brings it to his face looking Ronan straight in the eye before popping the digit into his mouth.

And that’s it. Ronan is fucking done. He fucks K with one final punishing jerk of his hips and just _lets go_. Everything burns and it feels like his veins are filled with gasoline, but he loves it. Doesn’t pull out until he well and truly empty, giving Kavinsky every drop he has. 

After, he rolls off Kavinsky and into the waves. They both lie there, staring up at the still dark sky. Kavinsky wishes he’d thought to dream up a plug, something to stop the ocean from taking Ronan’s come away from him, but doing something like that would give it all away.

Ronan is sure the waves have taken their clothes, their booze, the pills, everything. Probably the Mitsubishi, too. It feels nice, though, knowing he’s got nothing left but dreams. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm the-real-izzygone on tumblr. come find me if you're also rovinsky trash.


End file.
